


and all the stars will bow

by bodhirooks



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Uncle Spock, Ben is a Sweet, Demora is a Smart, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Genesis Experiment, Implied Mpreg, Jim is Jim, Klingons cause Trouble, Leonard loves Spock, M/M, Rescues, Sassy Vulcans, Sexting, Space Husbands, Spock and Sarek have a good relationship, Spock loves Leonard, Temporary Long-Distance, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-29 03:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7668238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodhirooks/pseuds/bodhirooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m just gonna miss yah is all.”</p><p>Spock sighs, resting his hands on Leonard’s chest. The human is gruff, but not unpleasantly so, and Spock admits to a certain warmth in his heart. “I will miss you too.”</p><p>“Ah, come on, let up, Bones!” Jim butts his fat head in, jostling the pair apart and giving Spock a brief hug before he can react. “Have fun out there, Spock.”</p><p> </p><p>Spock joins a week-long conference in Yorktown and stays with the Sulus. Of course, trouble finds them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. leaving. greeting party. the delegation. a problem. lunch. a call.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any Star Trek characters and derive no monetary compensation for this work!

The Enterprise is abuzz and alive. Officers flit to and fro with places to be and duties to perform, boots clicking across shining floors and consoles alight beneath their fingertips. Shining light casts flares across pearly white walls, and on the Bridge it shoots along surfaces as if carrying with it all the crew’s chatter.

Watching, pale eyes aglow as he nods his approval, is Jim Kirk. Sprawled unceremoniously across the captain’s chair, he stretches his arms over his head. “Status, Mr. Sulu.” He yawns dramatically.

Sulu shakes his head. “Sir, we are in position above Yorktown.” His voice carries a soft fondness, and Jim rolls his eyes.

“Don’t get sappy with me, Helmsman,” he teases, pointing at the man’s back. Sulu chuckles. Slapping his legs and nodding decisively, Jim stands. “You have the con. I gotta go see a transporter room about a Vulcan.”

“Aye, sir.”

Jim rides the lift a few floors down and steps into the hall. He bobs his head to a silent rhythm as he traverses a few corridors and arrives at Transporter Room 3. Tapping in a quick code, he enters.

Evidently someone’s beat him to it.

McCoy’s arms are lazily slung around Spock’s hips, pulling the Vulcan obscenely close. Spock makes a noise of protest, breaking their kiss and leveling the doctor with a frown. “Leonard, you know my boundaries well enough to-”

“I know,” McCoy huffs, running a calloused hand through Spock’s soft, shiny hair. It’s always perfect - just like his slanted eyebrows and his strong nose and his pert lips and everything else - so he revels in messing it up a bit. “I’m just gonna miss yah is all.”

Spock sighs, resting his hands on Leonard’s chest. The human is gruff, but not unpleasantly so, and Spock admits to a certain warmth in his heart. “I will miss you too.”

“Ah, come on, let up, Bones!” Jim butts his fat head in, jostling the pair apart and giving Spock a brief hug before he can react. “Have fun out there, Spock.”

Spock’s brow arches. Jim and McCoy prepare themselves for a reprimand. “It is unlikely I will engage in any leisure activities, as this is a meeting of scientific experts-”

“I know,” Jim says, the time same as McCoy. They share a quick smirk before Jim trots back for the door. “Just enjoy yourself!”

Spock looks to McCoy with a curious expression. “I do not believe Jim is taking my duties at this conference seriously.”

“‘Course he is,” McCoy insists, gathering Spock in his arms again. “He just wants to make sure you’re not all serious the whole time.”

“It is a serious matter. The survival of New Vulcan is not to be taken lightly”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, at least enjoy parts of it.”

Spock takes a thoughtful moment to nod before leaning up to kiss his husband again. “Live long and prosper.”

“You’re only gone a week!”

“I am just going to miss you, is all.”

McCoy laughs at having his words thrown back in his face. He’s taught Spock well. Closing his eyes, he kisses Spock’s forehead, hugging him a little. “Bye, Spock.”

“Goodbye, Leonard.” Spock steps away, taking his position on the transporter pad. “Be safe.”

McCoy waves, just in time for Spock’s form to disappear in a whirlwind of shooting stars. The particles where the Vulcan stood moments ago are tingling with residual energy, and the room seems even brighter.

“About bloody time!”

McCoy whirls, only to find Montgomery Scott at the control panel.

“Damn it Scotty, didn’t see you there…” McCoy grumbles, already stomping out.

“Obviously not. With all the handsy star-struck lovey-dovey mushy-”

McCoy doesn’t hear the rest, letting the door slide shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

The sensation of beaming is not unlike dozing off, only to wake moments later in a new place. Spock does not sleep often, so the jolt of transportation is familiar in a different way - not as unpleasant as Leonard finds it, but odd nevertheless.

Yorktown’s terminal is bustling with commuters and other-worldly travelers, only paying mind to their own destinations. Spock observes this as he steps from the transporter pad, scanning his surroundings for his greeting party. He is approximately 0.47 days early for the conference, so his escort will be of a different nature.

“Mister Spock!”

Turning to the right, Spock spots his hosts. He’s only met the man once, at Jim’s birthday party, but he is recognizable nonetheless. Spock approaches, picking up the bags he had sent ahead earlier.

“Mister Sulu,” he greets, bowing his head politely. Ben extends a hand, and after barely a pause Spock takes it. “I extend my gratitude for allowing me into your home.”

“It’s not a problem,” Ben replies cheerfully, shifting the child on his hip. “Demora, say hi!” The child - roughly four or five standard years old - hides her face in her father’s neck, and Ben chuckles. “Sorry, she’s pretty shy.”

Spock quirks a brow, but says nothing, allowing Ben to lead the way. In negligible time they arrive at the Sulu’s family home, and Spock absorbs the tan walls, green furniture, marble counters and a plethora of plants. Undoubtedly Hikaru’s home. There are plastic toys and microbiology kits scattered across the floor, which Spock is careful to step over as he’s shown to the guest bedroom.

“It’s a little small, but we can’t have you sleeping on the couch,” Ben grins, showing Spock the works.

“It is very satisfactory,” Spock approves, certain to add ‘very.’ Leonard had told him by adding ‘very’ he came across as less disapproving.

Ben’s smile broadens, and it appears Leonard is right. “I’m glad.” By this time Demora has slipped from her father’s arms and is traversing Spock’s bed on her knees. “Come on Dem, let’s leave Mister Spock to unpack.”

‘Dem,’ however, simply sits cross-legged beside Spock’s luggage, watching him remove several of his possessions. “Wha’s this?” she asks, picking up one of his robes. It is taupe, with emerald lacing and floral imprint of a lighter shade.

“It is a Vulcan robe, made of a rare fabric called _pelal_.”

“It’s soft and it has pretty flowers!” Demora observes, smiling toothily. Or, not-so toothily. Several have already fallen out.

Spock nods. “It is indeed quite comfortable.” He continues to unpack, and once it’s apparent Dem isn’t bothering him Ben slips out to throw together a quick dinner. Dem continues asking questions, and Spock dutifully answers them.

When they are seated at the kitchen table, enjoying their respective meals - Spock and Ben light salads, Demora macaroni and cheese - she really breaks out of her shell.

“You look funny!”

Spock blinks, observing Ben nearly choke on his food before he turns to Demora with a curious look. “How so?”

“Dem, you don’t tell people they look funny!” Ben scolds, looking sheepish and mouthing Spock a quick ‘sorry.’ Dem ignores him in favor of answering Spock’s question.

“Well, you have funny eyebwows.” Her voice is assertive, which is near-comical given its adolescent timbre. “They point up. And your bangs go stwaight acwoss like this.” She chops her hand over her forehead, mouth set in a firm pout. “And yow ears are pointy, like an elf’s.”

Spock is amused, as being compared to a mythical creature reminds him of Leonard’s more creative insults. “All Vulcans look the same way.”

“Well, then all Vulcans are funny-lookin’!” Dem’s declaration rings sound, and Spock can not argue with such logic. Ben apologizes a few more times before they settle back in to finish their meal.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, the delegates congregate. All present are Vulcans, one of whom is Spock’s father. As Sarek enters the room, Spock moves to greet him, beginning with the traditional Vulcan salute before taking his father’s hand and bringing it to his forehead. An intimate gesture between father and son, but one Spock had taken to doing after the death of his mother. Sarek’s eyes smile as his son straightens up, and they briefly embrace.

“My son. You are well?”

“Affirmative, father,” Spock assures, taking great comfort in Sarek’s presence. When Sarek brings his hands to Spock’s psi-points he nods his consent. The other Vulcans respectfully turn away, leaving Spock with only his father’s green eyes.

Sarek slips into Spock’s mind through his parental bond, observing Spock’s recent emotions and memories. Many of the crew pop to the surface - Jim being mischievous, Uhura and Chekov gossiping - but there are many more of him and Leonard. Laughing together during the Krall debacle, watching each other at Jim’s birthday party. Even confessing their feelings, which is a memory Spock cherishes. Sarek’s pleasure at his son’s happiness leaks through the meld, and they pull apart, happily reacquainted.

As presiding dignitary, Sarek calls the meeting into session, and everyone takes their seats.

 

* * *

 

 

“We can not expect the Vulcan colony to last if there is not ample food supply.”

“Have you not applied your fertilizers to New Vulcan’s soil?”

“We have attempted as such, but the chemical is vastly less potent, as the concentration of metallic compounds differs between Vulcan and New Vulcan.”  
  
“New Vulcan is also more uniformly elevated, and thus dry, making our agricultural techniques comparatively inefficient.”

“Have you attempted to create a different fertilizer?”

“All due respect, Commander Spock, but we are not imbeciles.”

“I was simply ascertaining what progress you have made in solving the problem.”

“We have altered the fertilization compounds, with some success. The size of the yields has increased, however the roots are not taking readily to the soil, and the plants are dying with great rapidity.”

“What other measures have been taken?

“Why would it matter to you? You have not taken an interest in helping rebuild our species, and yet here you are?”

“I offer unique insight on the issue, as a Federation officer who has experienced xenobotany first-hand on many different occasions.”

“As have most of us, Commander, which is why we have been assembled-”

“Enough.” With a risen hand Sarek cuts the conversation at the root, a powerful image in the room’s dim light. “Argument is illogical. I expect to be presented with solutions in two days’ time. Dismissed.”

 

* * *

 

Spock bids his father good day, returning to the Sulu’s home to meditate and ponder any solutions to New Vulcan’s problem. As he enters Demora runs to greet him, latching onto his legs. “Hi.”

Spock raises a brow, but otherwise does not protest. “Greetings.”

“You’re weawing your flower-robe!” she comments brightly, she herself wearing a blue sundress with a yellow sun-flower in the center.

Leonard’s voice echoes in his head - _‘She’s not wrong.’_ “Indeed I am,” he says.

“Mister Spock!” Ben comes to stand behind Demora, shooing her aside so Spock can enter. “How was your meeting?”  
  
“Wha’did you talk about?” Demora inquires.

“It was unproductive, though we discussed many things.” 

“That’s too bad,” Ben frowns. He has a large satchel slung over one shoulder, and is wearing slacks and a button-up. Spock sets his own things (just his PADD, really) on the far side of the Sulu’s couch, out of the way.

“We’we going to lunch before my playdate!” Demora announces, following Spock around.

“Most interesting,” Spock remarks, intending to head to the guest room.

“Would you like to come with us?” Ben suggests. “I know the last time you were here you didn’t see much besides the parts you flew through.”

An accurate statement, as he and Leonard did fly directly through several structures. Seeing no harm in accepting the invitation, Spock agrees. Demora claps and hugs Spock’s legs again before reaching towards the ceiling. A moment of confusion passes before Spock realizes she wants to be carried. Slowly, he stoops to pick her up, perching her on his hip. He then follows Ben to the Sulus’ favorite restaurant.

Their routine seems to be as such: Ben and Demora will stop to have lunch before the girl is dropped at a friend or babysitter’s house, after which Ben heads to work. Spock is happy to sit with them at their usual patio table before-hand. He orders a vegetarian sushi dish while Ben orders a club sandwich and Demora a grilled cheese. Spock takes the moment to look around, observing Yorktown’s ingenious inverted architecture. “Fascinating.”

“Tha’s my school!” Dem cries proudly, pointing to what from their vantage point is a stout, upside-down building.

“Indeed,” Spock inflects, turning his attention back to the table. “I am reminded of my own school on Vulcan.”

“Isn’t Vulcan gowne, though?”

“Dem!”

Nodding his head politely at Ben, Spock answers Demora’s question. “It was not when I was young. At your age I attended school in a similar construct.”

“But you can’t have upside-down buiwdings without awtificial gwavity!” Demora speaks slowly, so as to articulate every word precisely. Her speech impediment, though hindering that, is starting to grow on Spock at what he would consider adorable levels.

“Vulcan had only regular gravity,” Spock explains, tone fond, “but upside-down buildings nevertheless.”

“Vulcans must be verwy smart!”

Spock comes as close as a Vulcan might to shrugging. “We consider ourselves intelligent,” he says satirically.

“You’re just being humble, Mister Spock!” Ben chimes in, handing Demora a few napkins to clean up her cheese. Aside from the adolescent’s slight mess, their immediate vicinity is clean, and everything beyond spotless, leaving Spock duly impressed and in a lighter mood than he had been. “Remember, Dem,” Ben continues, “Vulcans are the smartest guys around!”

“Ooh!” Demora is impressed, abandoning her grilled cheese to clamber from her seat into Spock’s lap. “Lemme show you my pictuwes.” She makes grabbing hands in her father’s direction, and he rolls his eyes, reaching into his bag to pull out her starter-PADD. Standing back up a little to take it, Demora starts showing Spock pictures of her school and her botany kits and her best friend’s toy starship collection.” Spock nods attentively at every image he’s shown.

Ben can’t help but smile. So Hikaru was right. Spock is just a softy. Discreetly, he takes out his own PADD, snapping a picture and sending it to his husband.

 

* * *

 

“Captain’s Log, Stardate, 2265.4. Our journey has been largely uneventful. We’ve restocked several Federation outposts with no opposition, and we’re set to return to Yorktown after a few more package deliveries.”

Jim cuts off the recording, sighing in sheer boredom. “Uhura, anything on the coms?”

“Negative, Captain,” Uhura sighs, exasperated.

“Chekov, anything in space?”

“Nothing out of ze ordinary, zir.”

Jim groans, throwing his legs over the arm of his chair, nearly setting off a million buttons. “There’s nothing to do. Where’s Spock, I want Spock.”

“He’s here, sir.”

Jim looks up, only to see Sulu approaching with his PADD in hand, smiling at the screen. He hands the device to Jim, who takes it and ‘aw’s. It’s a picture of Spock, with Demora sitting on his lap, excitedly showing him something on her starter-PADD. “So cute!” he coos. “Did Ben send that?”

Sulu grins. “Yeah, just now.”

Jim slaps his knees decisively, as is tradition. “Let’s give him a call then! Up on the viewscreen.”

“Now, zir?” Chekov inquires. His thin brows furrow, and Jim can’t help thinking of him as a curly fry.

Jim shrugs, waving it off and getting comfy again. “Sure, why not! Punch it, Mister Sulu,” he jokes.

Sulu rolls his eyes, but pulls up Ben’s PADD ID and lets it ring. Moments later Ben’s smiling face flickers into view. “Hikaru! And - everyone!”

“Hey, babe,” Sulu greets fondly, and the rest of the bridge chirps in with ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s. Jim discreetly coms Scotty and McCoy, telling them to bump it to the bridge.

“Must not be a lot going on, then?” Ben guesses, briefly glancing at something off-screen. He laughs and holds a finger to the camera before switching its view.

After barely a pause, a new image appears. Demora is still in Spock’s lap, only this time facing the Vulcan, her fingers busy with the Vulcan’s hair. Her PADD is abandoned, and tiny braids poke out in odd directions among Spock’s bangs. Chattering about the different bows and ribbons she and her friends have, Demora is oblivious to the recording, and so is Spock.

Jim bites his finger to keep from laughing, and Uhura holds a hand over her mouth. Chekov is outright giggling, and Sulu lets out a bark of laughter. Moments later, Scotty and McCoy swish through the door - “What the bloody devil’s goin’ on?” “Is everything alright?” - and come to a halt.

“I have some bwue ones that would go really well with your hair,” Demora is saying, still on about dolling Spock up. McCoy watches, enraptured as Spock sits obediently still, nodding politely as a little girl gives him an impromptu, _public_ makeover.

“Say hi to the Enterprise!” Ben sing-songs, and Dem’s face lights up as she waves to the camera. Spock’s cheeks heat to a bright green as he realizes he’s being watched.

Jim is rubbing his hands together in delight, visibly plotting all the ways he can bring this up later. “Hi Spock!” he calls, lilting, and McCoy rolls his eyes.

Spock’s blush brightens. “Greetings, Captain.” Demora decides her work is complete, and she pulls away proudly. Spock takes that as his cue, picking her up and placing her back in her seat.

“How are the meetings going?” Jim inquires, elbowing Scotty as the man leaves to return to Engineering.

“It is unclear the trajectory they will take,” Spock states. He’s wearing that robe, the one Leonard likes. He swallows. “Thus far, they have been unproductive.”

Jim scratches his chin thoughtfully. “I’m sure inspiration’ll strike soon,” he tries.

“Of course,” Spock replies, brows conveying ample sarcasm. Leonard can’t help but smile. He already misses the Vulcan so damn much. The way the traffic passes behind him and the silver buildings glint makes him look pale and angelic, cast in an urban halo. Only Ben’s voice breaks the spell.

“Oh, Christ, look at the time!” The PADD jostles as Ben stands. “We gotta say bye now!”

“Bye-bye!” Demora cheers, waving. Spock waves as well, the motion small, but it’s sickeningly cute. The camera turns back to Ben, who smiles before the call ends. Black space greets them, dotted with stars.

_Like Spock’s eyes._

“Hey, Bones, why didn’t you say hi?” Jim jostles McCoy with the toe of his boot. McCoy pops back to reality, observing the entire bridge crew watching him.

He grumbles under his breath. “I dunno! Too damn domestic, bloody hobgoblin…” Stomping off the bridge, he ignores Jim’s huffy little breath. Brat.

 

* * *

 

Spock spends the rest of the day in the relative quiet of the guest room, compiling data on New Vulcan’s current agricultural economy. He organizes the numbers into different charts before sketching out a diagram. Puzzling does him little good, so he settles in to meditate.

Meditation is less an act of transcendence - a common misconception - than it is the act of full awareness. Shedding one’s surroundings does not take one to another place, as the oddity of beaming does, but grounds one in the moment, heightened by the Vulcan ability to sensationalize and commune with other Vulcans. Focusing on the moment refreshes the mind as well as minimizes the already marginal time a Vulcan requires to sleep.

Once he returns his awareness to the room, and the situation around him, Spock wriggles his fingers and toes. Pulling himself fully to his feet, he joins Ben and Demora, who have just returned, for a light dinner.

Late at night, scanning his e-mails for any relevant articles, Spock receives a call from Leonard. Lips twitching upward, he accepts. Leonard is also in bed, the lights off and cast in the blue of his PADD screen. The doctor is scruffy and visibly tired, hair a mess. Spock loves him very much.

“Leonard.”

“Hey, Spock,” Leonard grins, eyes ever enchanting. “How are yah?”

“I am adequate.”

“That’s good to hear.” A moment of comfortable silence passes, where Spock turns out his own light (he’d been sitting with the pillows propping him up) and curls up on his side, mirroring Leonard’s position.

“You’re cute in that lighting,” the human comments. Spock simply watches him fondly. “Hell, you’re cute all the time. You were cute earlier, too.”

Even in the PADD’s dim cast Spock is certain his flush is visible. “You did not announce your presence.”

Leonard nods, scrubbing a hand over his stubbled face. Perhaps that had already been mentioned. “Yeah, I guess I jus’ didn’t know what to say.”

Spock’s brows furrow. “I do not understand.”

“It’s just… I dunno… Something about seeing you and that kid…”

Expression smoothing, Spock’s stomach warms. “We have discussed the possibility of having children before,” he recalls.

Leonard smiles fondly. “Yeah, we have…” Eyes daydreaming, he yawns into his shoulder, making Spock smile. Leonard’s grin broadens. “There you are,” he drawls, poking the camera in a mimic of the way he’d often poke Spock’s nose. “‘M tired, doll, and you should get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Leonard.”

“‘Night Spock. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

The call ends, and Spock sets his PADD aside to charge. He closes his eyes, and sleeps.


	2. babysitting. solutions. a meeting. loneliness. departures.

Another day passes to a replicate tune, spent contemplating New Vulcan’s vast debacle and getting nowhere. Demora comes to kiss Spock goodnight - an odd custom, but one he does not argue against. He calls Leonard before attempting to rest, achieving only anxious meditation. 

The next morning, at an unusual hour, Spock is roused by several resounding thunks and the sound of a kettle squealing. Unfolding himself from the bed, he pads quietly into the kitchen, brows rocketing to his hairline as he observes overboiling tea, a mess of satchels, an explosion of toys, and Ben Sulu attempting to corral his daughter.  

“Come on, Dem, I have to take you with me!” Ben grunts, lunging and nearly hitting his head on the table. 

“I don’t wanna!” Dem shrieks in delight, barricading herself in the cage of table and chair legs. She sticks her tongue out, and Ben groans. 

As he watches Spock drifts to the stovetop and removes the kettle from the burner. He pours excess water into the sink before retrieving a cloth to wipe up the spill. 

“Thank you, thank you, Mister Spock!” Ben babbles, his words all a flurry. “I forgot they had me coming in for an early shift so I didn’t change my alarm and now everything’s a mess and I can’t find a babysitter for Dem-”

Spock nods obligingly to the whirlwind narrative. Ben throws together his bags - an odd criss-cross of straps that contorts his shirt at odd angles - and sighs. “Come on, Dem! You’re gonna have to come to work with me.”

“But your work is borwing!” she gripes, refusing to budge. 

“If you would like,” Spock offers without missing a beat, “I could watch over Demora until you return from work.”

“Really?” Ben’s eyes light up with relief. “Thank you, thank you!” He stumbles over and gives Spock a gob-smacker right on the cheek. Spock stiffens and mutters an ‘oh’, while Demora finally emerges and clings to his legs jubilantly. Ben rushes out the door, but moments later he returns. “Is she okay to go to your Vulcan meeting?”

Spock nods. “I do not see why not.” 

Ben grins and disappears again. Dem starts singing a gibberish song, and Spock briefly wonders what he has gotten himself into. 

_ Both my words and my thoughts are beginning to sound like Leonard,  _ he muses, re-making the tea and a light breakfast. He retrieves cereal for Demora, and once they have eaten he helps her assemble her botany kit before leaving her to it. 

Curled up on the couch, time passes imperceptibly as Spock examines multiple reports and charts. He pulls up a sketch he had pieced together the day before which illustrated a typical patch of farmland on new Vulcan. They had attempted to relocate their crops nearer to sources of water, but even with buffer-strips the rivers had rapidly become polluted. Now, they are stuck.

“Mister Spock! Come play with me!” 

Spock sighs, resigning himself to little progress made. Bringing his PADD with him, he sits cross-legged beside Demora and watches her use a small rake to cultivate her miniature ecosystem. It is an ingenious piece of equipment - a small habitat that fits on a lap-tray, mechanized to mimic an ecosystem, assuring no damage to actual life-forms as the child learns what changes enhance and deter its development. Demora seems to be doing quite well, as her subtropical habitat is flourishing. 

“What’re you workin’ on?” she inquires, grabbing for his PADD. Spock lets her take it. 

“I am attempting to find a solution to one of  New Vulcan’s problems.” He succinctly explains what is happening, and Demora shuts down her ecosystem, immediately intrigued. 

“So, the new fertilizewrs make the plants bigger but the rwoots shrwivel up?”

“Correct.”

“And moving it closewr to water doesn’t help.”

“Correct.”

Demora frowns, turning the PADD this way and that, tongue sticking out as she tries to brainstorm her own answer. 

“What are the irrigwation pipes made outta?” 

“They are made of a firm silicon substance abound in New Vulcan’s rock deposits.” 

Nodding, Demora hands the PADD back to Spock. Noting it is upside down, Spock corrects the screen orientation. 

“Wait!” Demora shrieks. Spock nearly jumps out of his skin, heart-rate elevated in surprise. Children were unpredictable, if nothing else. “Turn it back the otha’ way!”

Spock does as Demora requests, holding the image they’ve been inspecting upside-down. Demora grins. “Tha’s your soluwtion.” 

Spock frowns as he tries to comprehend her meaning. Rolling her eyes as if it’s obvious, she snatches the PADD back, boxes the illustrations of the pipes and the plants, and flips only those. Spock’s lips part as it clicks into place. 

“Inverse irrigation…” he mumbles, in awe. If the irrigation pipes were above the surface, and the plants hung upside down… “Perfectly logical.” 

Demora beams, and Spock looks at her appraisingly. “I believe you have found the solution.” Standing, he pulls Dem up with him. He has a meeting to attend.

 

* * *

 

“This is simply an illogical notion.”

“Far from it. Many planets I have encountered utilize gravity-resistant agriculture. The silicon piping would be wide and firm enough to hold the roots of the plants in place while the water is periodically flushed in. The water would traverse the fertilizer tanks containing the original Vulcan compound and pass through the irrigation tubes, as before, with little concern to the chemical composition of the soil as the original compound is not detrimental to the environment. The water would then be re-filtered through the buffer zones, again with little concern-”

“But the fruits would be exposed to readily to the elements.”

“Which is why we will utilize the other compound abundant in New Vulcan’s sediment.”

“And that would be?”

“Transparent Aluminum.”

The Vulcan delegation falls thoughtfully silent. Spock observes each countenance, pleased to note they are reaching the same conclusion. Cross-legged, perched in a circle as Yorktown’s artificial light streams through the blinders, the Vulcan delegation reaches a conclusion without words. 

“Very well.” Sarek adjusts his posture - Vulcans, renowned as always on ceremony, do enjoy the occasional comfy cushion, especially in each other’s company - and raises his hand in the Vulcan salute. “The issue is adjourned. We shall disperse to correlate a budget.” The assembled delegates mirror his signal.

“It would be logical to coordinate reserve measures,” an older Vulcan acknowledges. A back-up plan would not be untoward.

“Ah, yes.” The Vulcan Science Minister now speaks - the same who oversaw Spock’s ‘acceptance’ to the Vulcan Science Academy. “ _ Tveshu. _ ”

Spock blinks, neck stiffening in displeasure. “ _ Tveshu? _ It is in development?”

“It has already been developed.” Sarek, beside him, gives his son a warning look, which Spock dutifully ignores. 

“Why?” he demands - though his tone is even his brows are not.

Sarek does not answer. “It is not likely to be utilized,” he evades, standing and waiting for the others to follow before turning back to his son. “We are truly indebted to you, my child.”

_ Tveshu _ forgotten, Spock quirks a brow, mouth threatening to upturn. “It was not my idea.” 

His father seems rightly confused. “If it was not yours then whose?”

Spock turns happily to the far right wall. Its concave design casts much of the perimeter of the room into shadow, thus concealing a hidden occupant. Slowly, Demora tiptoes out, smiley and sheepish all at once. “Hello!”

To Spock’s chagrin a low murmur overtakes the room and sends Demora hopping anxiously to his side. Meeting Sarek’s eye sharply, Spock makes introductions.

“Father, this is Demora Sulu, daughter of Helmsman Hikaru Sulu of the USS Enterprise and his husband Ben. Demora, this is my father, Sarek of Vulcan.”

The murmurs die down and Sarek absorbs the child before him. Slowly, he crouches to one knee, an uncomfortable position if his slight grunt is any indication. “Was this your idea, child?” he asks quietly, meeting her at eye-level.

Demora’s eyes are wide, and Spock sends a brief prayer to Surak. If she speaks of ‘funny looking Vulcans’ he will be ridiculed to the end of his days.

Blessedly, she does not. “Yeah…” Her reply is nervous, but she picks up courage. “Mister Spock showed me his diagrwams and I said he should turn it upside down! Like your buiwldings!”

Sarek nods very considerately as he observes the girl with a soft expression. “We owe you as much a debt as he, then.” Demora beams, and Sarek stands. 

“We shall come together briefly tomorrow morning for a discussion of budget and aid. Then, we shall be adjourned. Dismissed.”

Spock is relieved. When Demora requests to be carried, he doesn’t miss a beat.

 

* * *

 

The neon lights beneath the bar make the bottom of his drink glow, the liquid flirting with blues and greens like some sort of siren. Figures this’ll get him all melodramatic - that’s the only thing Bourbon seems to do for him nowadays. Glancing around the rec-room, Leonard sees his rest of colleagues happily inebriated. Kirk is absorbed in a chess-match with Chekhov, a bottle of Vodka between them. Uhura and Scotty are drinking each other under the table. Sulu is the only one sober, laughing down at his PADD. McCoy picks up his drink and joins him in the small lounge area, the leather sofa creaking as he sits. 

“Check a look,” Sulu grins, handing over his PADD. McCoy frowns curiously, but nods with a chuckle. It’s another picture - Spock and Dem, collapsed on the Sulus’ couch, out like lights. The caption reads: ‘Had a busy day saving Vulcan! Dem even got to meet the Council!’

“Really, Spock let ‘er go with him?”

“Evidently, she came up with the award-winning idea.” Sulu is smiling proudly, and McCoy snorts.

“Figures. No offence to your kid, but with eight Vulcans in a room you’d think they’d come up with somethin’.” 

Sulu chuckles and shakes his head with an exasperation McCoy is used to seeing when he gripes. It makes him miss Spock all the more. Spock challenges him any chance he gets. 

“Spock’s hair’s getting long,” Sulu comments for no discernable reason, and yeah, it is, McCoy can see in the picture. It’s starting to grow out of its bowl-cut shape past his ears, which still poke out like snow-capped mountain peaks. Damn him.

“Guess it is,” he shrugs, trying to be ‘cool’ about it.

Sulu sees right past that. “You should give him a call,” he suggests, chin propped in his hand and expression smug. 

Leonard grunts, waving it off, but he stands and heads out anyways. He slaps Jim on the shoulder as he ducks through the door, and Jim’s pout says ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’ Fat chance. 

Once Leonard’s in his room, he sprawls out on the bed - it’s far too big without a second body there - and grabs his PADD. He debates for a moment before deciding not to call, but send a quick message.

[Conversation: Spock - text, 22:43 hours]  _ You awake? _

[received, 22:44 hours]  _ I am.  _

Leonard smiles. 

[text, 22:44 hours]  _ Ben snapped a picture of you and Demora _

[received, 22:45 hours]  _ Yes, I am aware. I am assuming he sent it to Mr Sulu. _

Leonard snorts at how curt that sounds. 

[text, 22:46 hours]  _ Correct _

he mocks. Spock seems to pick up on that. 

[received, 22:46 hours]  _ Is that all you wished to comment on? _

[text, 22:46 hours]  _ I miss you _

[received, 22:47]  _ I miss you, too. _

Smiling, Leonard replies. 

[text, 22:48 hours]  _ I’m gonna get some shut-eye _

[received, 22:48]  _ Goodnight. _

[text, 22:49 hours]  _ Love you _

[text, 22:50 hours]  _ I love you, too. _

Leonard closes his eyes and sleeps.

 

* * *

 

 

The budget meeting is concise and, in a manner of speaking, boring. New Vulcan has ample funds to get controlled tests up and running, and projected success will not put them in the red. Sarek is very pleased, and for the rest of the afternoon Spock helps his father pack and sees him to his transport. 

“I am proud of you, my son,” Sarek says solemnly, stance and dress setting him apart like a god among mortals. One of the shuttle bay’s ramps extends towards a sleek, bronze Vulcan cruiser, and as several of the delegates board Spock’s father lingers. “You have come a long way since you have joined Starfleet. A long way towards serenity.”

Spock’s brow quirks, and he reaches for his father’s hand. Sarek takes it. Spock is relieved to convey his thoughts through their touch, but also speaks. “Do Surak’s teachings dictate serenity over logic?” he inquires. Accepting a child’s ideas into Vulcan agriculture seems illogical in principle.

Sarek shakes his head. “No.” His voice is gentle, and eyes soft within the tan set of his face. “What Surak does govern is peace. Peace within one’s self. Peace between parts of one’s self.” Sarek’s hand slips from Spock’s only to run through his son’s hair - something Amanda used to do when Spock was a child.

Spock understands. 

Sarek steps back and takes up his bags, heading down the ramp. “You need a haircut, my child.”

His father’s call tugs at his lips. Leonard had made a passing comment on how good Spock would look with long hair, and so he had ‘tried it on for size’ (within regulation, of course.)

The Vulcan ship departs - a comet into darkness. Spock turns. Two more days until he will return to the Enterprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments sustain me :)


	3. an excursion. new greetings. sexting. an attack.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What was that?”
> 
> Logically, Spock can not pinpoint the origin of the disturbance.
> 
> “I do not know…” he says quietly.

Spock spends the next day meditating, much to Demora’s disappointment. Somehow the child has grown attached to him, and only after much pouting does she coax Spock into the living room to watch a movie.

Of course the movie isn’t watched. Demora chats incessantly about a friend coming in on the _USS Intrepid_. “I havsn’t seen them fowr six months, so we’re gonna have a play date and talk and talk and talk!” On each ‘talk’ she shakes her head, sending her pony-tails whipping out. Spock holds up a hand to block his face, but nevertheless nods attentively. From the other side of Demora Ben shushes his daughter. The man seems stressed by the PADD he is reading, and Spock inquires of its contents.

“It’s just a summary of the _Intrepid’s_ arrival,” he explains. “It was supposed to dock two days from now, but it’s ahead of schedule. They’re coming into Yorktown tomorrow, so we have to move up the play date and rearrange some things.” Ben pokes at the screen here and there, eventually satisfied by the arrangements. He huffs, looking at Spock apologetically. “Demora’s friend’s older brother is an ensign on the bridge, and apparently word’s gotten around you’re staying with us. Now the captain has an interest in meeting you.”

Spock cocks his head in consideration. “As the Vulcan conference has concluded I see no harm in accompanying you aboard the _Intrepid._ ” It is one of the newer ships of the fleet, and he is admittedly curious to inspect its technical components.

Ben sighs in relief. “Great! Lord knows I didn’t want to fight anybody on this…”

“Yay!” Demora squeals.

Spock winces at the high-pitch, but is content with his decision.

The next day, at precisely 1300 hours, the _Intrepid_ docks. It is large, with its warp nacelles beneath the saucer rather than behind it. Built for scientific expeditions, it has a much smaller weapons bay than the _Enterprise_ , but is large and sleek. From inside Yorktown Spock admires its breadth as Demora tugs his hand and points excitedly.

“Look, I can see him alrweady!” she cheers. Logically, she can see no such thing, but Spock does not comment. There is nothing wrong with missing someone. He knows that well enough.

Ben tussles his daughter’s hair. “Silly girl.”

The _Enterprise_ is set to arrive at 1900 hours, giving Spock no more than six hours left in the Sulus - and the _Intrepid’_ s - company. Rather than connect to the docking bay, the _Intrepid_ waits outside, as simple restocking and visitations aren’t enough to warrant a full stop. Boarding a Yorktown shuttle, they join the starship in orbit around the base.

Ben, evidently, does not like flying. He fidgets and chuckles nervously, and once they land he’s the first off the shuttle. Demora bounces after him, practically warping into the arms of a small boy. He has wild blonde hair and very few teeth, skin an almost silken paisley. His antenna bounce happily as they embrace, and behind him a taller member of his race stands patiently.

Spock observes the scene in full as he disembarks, the familiar hustle and bustle of red- and blue-clad officers soothing like he hasn’t anticipated. The elder brother greets them warmly, beckoning them further into the ship. 

The _Intrepid’_ s halls are wider than those on the _Enterprise,_ by approximately .97 meters. The crew looks just as companionable, waving at them and occasionally staring openly. Yet, somehow, the _Intrepid_ seems colder than the _Enterprise._ Perhaps, Spock muses, because it is not home.

The Bridge is bright and shining with vast arrays of panels and consoles - more than the _Enterprise_ has and likely for scientific purposes. Sitting in the captain’s chair is a man who looks to be in his late forties, with graying hair and bright green eyes and a satisfied smile on his face. As the turbolift doors _whoosh_ open and the new arrivals approach, he spins and stands.

“Welcome to the _Intrepid!”_ he greets warmly, arms outstretched as he shakes Ben’s hand. He nods to the elder brother, who returns to his post. The younger brother waves at the captain, and the captain waves back. “You must be Demora,” he says, turning to the girl, smiling kindly and stooping down to shake her hand. Demora beams widely, and the captain straightens. “You shall make a fine officer one day!” he declares.

Spock could not agree more. Finally, the man turns to the Vulcan, eyes alight with curiosity. “And Mister Spock, at last. I am Captain Paul.” Paul bows kindly - obviously, versed in the Vulcan custom, which Spock greatly appreciates. He bows in turn. 

“Greetings, Captain Paul. I am honored by your invitation.”

“Nonsense, it’s not a problem!” Paul claps him on the back - Oh, the humanity, as Jim would say. “When I heard Starfleet’s finest science officer was at Yorktown I couldn’t resist!”

Spock nods graciously, and Captain Paul beckons the nearest science officer. “This is Officer Jathos. He will give you an abridged tour and introduce you and the Sulus to our botany facilities.”

Spock quirks a brow. “Fascinating.”

 

* * *

 

 _Facilities_ is not the proper term to use. Short of being planetside, the _Intrepid’_ s botany level is practically paradise. Spock is duly impressed, and Demora completely ecstatic. Dashing here and there, ducking under broad leaves and scaling short trees, the girl is in her highest heaven, friend alongside her. Staring up at the remarkably high ceiling, Spock notes the sheer variety of life-forms around them - Earthen ferns, Andorian flowers, Lorentian vines, even Vulcan shrubs. Smatterings of white poke through the vibrant colors like a three-dimensional painting. Never has Spock longed for another ship, but this one is cutting it close.

“The galaxy’s finest specimens have been assembled here, many as seedlings from their native planets.” Science Officer Jathos boasts proudly of their botanical engineering and spread, through which Spock nods dutifully. “Fortunately, the adaptability of the plants has been spurred along by-”

“ _Tveshu,”_ Spock finishes. “I am well aware.”

Jathos nods, a coy smile on his lips. “Very good, sir.”

Spock is about to resume the tour when his PADD buzzes. Frowning curiously, he pulls it from his bag. There is a pending message from Leonard.

[Conversation: Leonard - text received, 14:50 hours] _Send me a pic._

Spock tilts his head.

[text, 15:03 hours] _Why do you desire a photograph?_

[received, 15:03 hours] _Having a bad day. Need to see you._

“Sir, is there something wrong?”

Spock glances up at Jathos, shaking his head. “Negative. My husband simply desires a photograph.”

Jathos seems to light up, like the proverbial Christmas tree. “Well, I can certainly help you there! My own wife enjoys a sext now and then.” He winks.

Spock frowns. “A ‘sext?’”

Jathos chuckles. “Here, I’ll help you out.” Jathos guides Spock to the nearest bench. “Alright. I’m assuming your husband misses you in more ways than one? So, let him have a picture of you and then some. Let’s start with this.” Jathos reaches to unzip the collar of Spock’s uniform, which he’d seen fit to wear aboard the _Intrepid._ Jathos stops just below Spock’s collar-bone. “There. Now lean back a bit.” Spock does as he’s told, still curious, switching the camera on his PADD to front-facing. Jathos helps him get the angle just right, arranging his arm so Spock’s fingers brush ‘tantalizingly’ beneath his unzipped shirt. “Alright. Now look sultry.”

“Sultry?” Spock is doubtful.

“Come on!” Jathos scoffs. “You’re not hard on the eyes.” After the equivalent of a Vulcan grumble, Spock parts his lips and tilts his chin down. Jathos snaps the picture. “Perfect!”

Spock sends the photograph. No caption required.

Jathos stands, stretching his arms over his head. He is young, around Lieutenant Chekov’s age, with dark skin, hair, and eyes. Likely from the Indian or Pakistani region. Spock stands with him. “Now, I suppose we should-”

Jathos’ sentence dies in the making, the man’s lips parting in surprise as the lights around them flicker and the floor gives a dissatisfied rumble. Spock’s lips tighten. Ben stumbles from around an enclave of pines with Demora and her friend pressed close to his hip. “What was that?”

They look to Jathos for reply. The man is clearly baffled, multiple thoughts dying before spoken as he shrugs in disbelief. The _Intrepid_ is the sturdiest Federation ship yet. None of the systems could _possibly_ malfunction.

Logically, that is not a statistical likelihood. Yet, logically, Spock can not pinpoint the origin of the disturbance. Now, they look to him.

“I do not know…” he says quietly.

Unless…

Brows shooting through his bangs, Spock drops his bag and bolts for the door. Jathos, Ben and the children follow close behind, all shouting at once for Spock to explain what’s wrong. As they enter the too-wide halls the white lights fade to a sickly green, and the wall consoles spit in a computerized voice:

YELLOW ALERT. YELLOW ALERT.

Up a turbo-lift, across the saucer, to the bridge. There is puzzlement, but no chaos. Ben and Demora are directed to the nearest conference room to wait, while Jathos takes his station, Demora’s friend heads for the residential wing, and Captain Paul approaches Spock.

“What do you make of these readings, Commander?” He guides the Vulcan to the navigation screens, where a visual analysis depicts an anomaly. Yet, nothing appears on the screen.

“Logically, the computer is less likely to be wrong than the viewscreen,” Spock deduces, examining the readouts further. The ship gives another rumble, and a low murmur spreads across the bridge.

“Maintain your stations,” Paul says firmly. A crew of fresh fish, then.

Abandoning the navigation computers, Spock gazes critically at the space before them. Something is out there. That is his conclusion. As the stars start to blur with the intensity of his stare, he sees it. A ripple. Like the stars are a blanket billowed into the air.

“Raise your shields!” he stresses, voice cracking as the ripple expands, the outlines distinct - large wings and a long neck.

Like a bird.

RED ALERT. RED ALERT.

the computer screams, and Spock backs out of the way. Captain Paul barks orders - sixty percent power to forward shields, remaining power to phaser banks. Not enough phasers, Spock determines.

The blanket is replaced by garish green. Rusted, and dirty, and quite obnoxious. Like its occupants. Klingons. The head of the ship warms to a red glow, and phaser beams connect with the _Intrepid._

Sparks fly, a helmsman screams, a few wires fall free from dislodged panels. Paul’s voice his loud and confident, and Spock knows he is at the moment a useless appendage. Leaving their safety in the hands of Paul’s crew, he runs for the conference room, to find Ben and Demora.

There is minimal damage around them, but they are tucked under the table in the standard safety position. Demora is screaming her distress, and Spock decides, against every logical bone in his body, to join them under the table.

Dem latches onto him immediately, and Ben shuffles closer. “What’s happening? Who’s attacking us?” his voice is loud to be heard, but surprisingly even. Spock admires his practicality. There is no need to panic. Yet.

“Klingons,” he replies, voice also raised.

“Why?”

Spock sighs, tucking Demora under his chin and closing his eyes. “I do not know,” he says, for the second time.

 

* * *

 

Jim is so bored. So, so bored. So bored he wants to die. He really does. And not out-in-a-blaze-of-glory-and-come-back-later kind of die, like the Khan thing. No. That would lead to Bones yelling at him later. He would much rather just die straight up than be this bored. But, if he opts for out-in-a-blaze-of-glory-and-come-back-later death, and Bones _does_ yell at him, it’ll be something to do.

Now that he’s debating which kind of death he’d prefer, Jim thinks of his best friend, all mopey and dopey lately. Obviously because he misses Spock. Also because the whole crew has come down with some weird alien pox and they’re lined up outside medbay for the foreseeable future. Bones has been strangely quiet, and non-confrontational, which is a disturbing thing to see. Jim wants him back to normal soon. Luckily, they’re on their way back to Yorktown.

Then, they get a call from Yorktown.

“USS Enterprise, this is Yorktown Base, come in Enterprise. USS Enterprise, this is Yorktown Base, come in.”

Uhura frowns curiously at her console, but accepts the transmission. “Yes, Yorktown, this is the Enterprise, we read you.”

“The _USS Intrepid_ is under attack. Repeat, the _Intrepid_ is under attack.”

Jim frowns, turning in his chair to face Uhura. “The _Intrepid?_ What’s that have to do with anything?”

Sulu is on his feet in an instant, standing aside Kirk’s chair with a worried expression on his face. “The _Intrepid_ was due for rounds at Yorktown this morning. Ben and Demora would have gone over to visit.” 

Jim’s frown deepens. “Mr. Chekov, set course for Yorktown. Uhura, let ‘em know we’re on the way.”

“Aye, zir!”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Mr. Sulu, I want you-”

“Already on it, sir.” Sulu is at his station in an instant, calling Ben’s PADD. It rings out. A spike of collective panic shoots down their spines. He calls again. No response. “I’m gonna try one of his co-workers.” Sulu enters the PADD ID, and two rings later there is a reply.

“Hikaru! I figured you called - are you on your way?”

“Yes I am,” Sulu replies, frowning down at the console. Chekov punches them to warp, as the colloquialism goes, and the stars stream by on the viewport. “Why?”

“Ben and Demora are still onboard.”

Sulu stiffens, worst fears confirmed. “Alright. I’m gonna call Mr. Spock and-”

“Mr. Spock is, too.”

Sulu jerks his neck over his shoulder, looking expectantly at the captain’s chair. Jim’s jaw is clenched, eyes fiery, and he stabs at the buttons on the arm of his chair. “Bones. You better get up here.”

 

* * *

 

After a long time, the ship falls quiet. It creaks like an abandoned home, likely from the duress of combat. No one comes to retrieve them. That above all is telling, until heavy footsteps lurch down the hall.

“Who is it? Can you tell?” Ben whispers hoarsely, Demora scrunched between them.

“Based on-…” Spock decides to skip the details - _the length between strides, the power of the steps. The menace of it._ \- and lowers his voice further. “There is only one logical conclusion.”

And he is right.

Seized roughly by the throat, Spock is yanked from under the table, cascading a few inches above the ground and connecting with the wall. White bursts behind his eyelids, and he nearly shouts. Demora screams and Ben is yelling. Blinking the pain from his temples, Spock scampers out of the way before Ben lands on top of him. Demora comes flying, and they catch her between them.

The Klingons are bathed in red lights, highlighting their frazzled hair, glinting armor, manic eyes. They are not here to destroy. If they were, the three of them would be dead already. Logically, they are looking for something.

One, perhaps the leader, approaches. His forehead is high and jagged like mountain peaks, a dark and dusky orange. Black eyes trained on Spock, his bootsteps fall heavily just in front of the crouching Vulcan. Despite his efforts to remain calm, Spock’s heart-rate spikes.

“Where is it?”

Spock stares up at the Klingon, lips drawn tight. Subtly, he aligns himself in front of Ben and Demora.

The Klingon is displeased. “Where _is it?”_

“I do not know to what you are referring.” Spock’s tone is level, with a certain degree of malice lacing the edges. He quirks his eyebrows, inciting a challenge.

He gets it. The Klingon tears at his bangs and Spock winces, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

“Tell me. Where it is.” The Klingon accent is thick and punctuated. “Genesis.”

Spock blinks. _Tveshu._ The Genesis Project.

“I do not know,” he lies. The grip on his hair tightens, pain alights across his jaw.

Darkness.

 

* * *

 

_“What?!”_

Jim sighs, pinching his nose and standing. “Bones, don’t get mad-”

“Don’t get mad? _Don’t get mad?!”_ Bones is obviously mad, rampaging across the bridge. “My husband is on a ship overrun by Klingons, and you think I won’t get _mad!”_  

“It’s nobody’s fault!” Jim protests. “Except the Klingons, technically it’s _their_ fault.”

“Then let me at ‘em!” Bones shrieks, shouldering his way past Jim to leer over the pilot’s console. “Let’s go faster!”

“You think I’m not already going as fast as I can?!” Sulu barks, sending a glare Leonard’s way.

Leonard sighs. “Sorry, Hikaru…” he mumbles, knowing otherwise. “I just hope they’re okay… God, and I just heard from ‘im twenty minutes ago...”

Jim frowns, sitting back in his chair. “You did? Where was he?”

Leonard scoffs. “The _Intrepid,_ I guess! I thought ‘e was at the Sulus’ place, there were plants everywhere…!” He thinks back to the picture. That goddamn sexy picture. He trails off in a grumble. “Stupid plants…”

“Hey, don’t diss plants!” Sulu snaps.

“Shut up, Sulu…”

 

* * *

 

The floor lurches beneath him, and Spock wakes.

Klingon vessel does not have advanced stabilizers. That much is immediately evident. Of all the things to notice, it is illogical this is the first, as there is a sticky substance gracing his forehead which is likely blood, a more pressing concern.

He is restrained against a cold table, leathers straps across his chest and legs. It is uncomfortable, but it does not hurt. Perhaps on purpose.

All is silent for a time, aside from the humming of the ship. The bulbed lights flicker, turning the ceiling above him an unsettling green. The metal of the chamber around him is dull, and appears menacing - an illogical observation. However, at this moment, logic does not prevail. Fear does.

But Spock does not let it show. He flexes against his restraints to test their strength. They do not budge. He sighs, craning his neck to scan his vicinity for anything that can be used-

The door clangs open, and Spock drops his head back down. Jaw clenched, he stares upward, heart racing in his abdomen. Lights now blocked by an imposing Klingon silhouette, he concentrates on settling his breathing.

“You _know_ to what we are referring,” the Klingon commander begins, tossing Spock’s words back in his face. If he were not a Klingon holding his husband hostage, Leonard would be amused. “Tell me. The coordinates.”

Spock keeps his mouth firmly shut. The Klingon nods. “Very well.” He moves away, metal instruments rattling next to Spock’s ears. The Vulcan shuts his eyes.  

Moments later, they’re flying open. White-hot pain sears down Spock’s leg. There’s a gargling noise, a scream from his own throat. Neck arching off the table, he sees bone protruding from the skin under his knee. Broken tibia. Tears blur his vision, and heavy fingers travel upwards.

There’s fire along his arm, burning his elbow. When he screams this time, he is aware. Somewhere beyond his clogged and bloody ears someone else shrieks. His mouth falls open in shock. Broken radius.

Another Klingon appears. They grunt in their native tongue, and Spock’s head lolls to the side. He wants to sleep. He wants to go home, to the Enterprise, to _Leonard._

“Our usual methods of persuasion don’t seem to be working,” the Klingon sing-songs. “So. We shall try a different tactic.”

Spock’s chin is forced to the side. He blinks at the door, watches it open. Ben is dragged in. Then Demora.

“No…”

Demora is sniffling, blobby tears blubbering down her cheeks. Ben is wrapped around her, defiant, with a black eye and a snarl. If Spock could clearly see their eyes, he is certain there would be compassion there, and worry, just as there would be if it were Jim or Leonard or anyone else.

The Klingons grin, knowing they’ve won. “Genesis. Tell us where it is.”

Spock’s eyes are closing, but they look at his friends. His family. He knows, if he is to die here, it will be well worth it is they can live. “It is... on Alpha Centuri, in a secure Vulcan facility...” he gasps, blood trickling from his lips.

“You will take us there.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! They fuel me :D
> 
> But, I won't be able to post again for a little over a week - I'll be away :( 
> 
> My tumblr is angryspock if you wanna chat :)


	4. klingons. remedies. realizations. alpha centauri. battle.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where are they going?” Jim pulls himself to his feet, voice firm.
> 
> “Alpha Centauri.” 
> 
> Leonard drags himself up as well, frowning. “What’s there?”
> 
> The Captain sighs, dismissing his remaining officers. “Take me aboard your ship and I shall explain.”

Leonard is pacing. Aggressively. He feels like a freight train stuck at the station - all steam, nowhere to go. Probably aggravating Jim, too. He plops down at the empty science station - Spock’s station. He fancies it still smells like the Vulcan. It really doesn’t.

“Arriving at Yorktown in thirty seconds,” Sulu announces, tension defined along the fine muscles of his neck and shoulders. Poor man must be kicking himself in the shin, just like Leonard is. 

Four. Three. Two. One.

The first thing to catch his eye is always space. Just its presence, and the smattering of stars. Leonard’s always enjoyed the stars - at least when he was back on Earth, on solid ground. Right now he wants to crush every one of them. 

There’s the  _ Intrepid,  _ stationary in a disquieting way. For all intents and purposes it looks abandoned, and it probably is. Large holes blasted through the saucer. Frazzled sparks and charred wires. Dead in the water. 

“We’re hailing but there’s no response,” Uhura announces, glancing out the viewport skeptically. 

Jim sighs. “Let’s assemble a search party. Bones, Sulu, with me. Chekov, you have the con.”

“Aye, zir!”

They line up in the turbolift, stomp to the transporter room. The intensity of the moment weighs in on them like cement as they’re beamed directly to the  _ Intrepid’s  _ bridge. 

A scan of the  _ Intrepid  _ revealed the life-support systems are on, but evidently the artificial gravity is  _ not.  _ With a few startled expletives McCoy is floating off the floor, pressing his boots to the nearest console to propel him across the room. “I’ll triangulate the location of the crew.”

“You do that, Bones,” Jim agrees, distracted by the damage around them. The Bridge was hit pretty hard, but there are no signs of the crew or any casualties. And that means no signs of Ben, Demora, or Spock.

“Who would have done this?” Bones muses, pulling up the correct signals. 

Jim sighs, hands held above his head so his hair doesn’t brush the ceiling. “Well, let’s think. Who do we know that destroys Federation ships on-sight?”

“Klingons.”

“And doesn’t bother conserving weapons?”

“Klingons.”

“And uses an angular attack - like birds?”

“Klingons.”   


“That’s right, Mr. Sulu. Klingons.”

“Woop-dee-doo, Jim,” McCoy grumbles, unimpressed, but he grins triumphantly as the screen before him lights up. A schematic of the  _ Intrepid  _ unfurls, revealing one hundred and fifty blinking dots in the brig. “I got ‘em! They’re locked up, Jim!”

Sulu pushes off the navigation console, grabbing McCoy’s shoulder and hovering above him horizontally. “Any indication of-”

McCoy shakes his head. “None, but that doesn’t mean they ain’t there.”

Jim grabs them both by the ears, coaxing them towards the door. “Let’s go find out then!” The forced optimism is palatable. 

Floating down the halls is… oddly enjoyable, except the ship is nearly torn at the seams and they’re looking for missing loved-ones. The brig is down twelve levels - which they shoot themselves through with a few pushes, and when they arrived the crew is crammed into one of the transparent cells, floating around like bugs in a pool.

One of them - the captain, it appears - is in obvious distress, banging on the glass he’s crammed against and pointing frantically the other way. “He’s in some kind of shock, Jim,” Leonard diagnoses, watching as Sulu moves to unlock the brig. 

The Captain floats out, grabbing Leonard by the shoulders in a vice. “The Klingons are just around the corner!” he hisses, and Leonard stiffens, watching Sulu and Jim push themselves off the transparisteel and turn around, phasers gripped in their floating hands. 

“Set to stun,” Jim whispers, waving for the crew to make their way down the hall, to Engineering. “Captain, have your crew work on restoring the gravity systems.”

“We’re lucky they didn’t hit the stabilizers,” the captain mumbles, following. Now it’s just the three of them.

And their unseen opponents. 

Leonard’s heart is racing fast, and over his friends’ shoulders he can hear the faint tap of leather against metal. Gloves finding hand-holds. 

“Bones, stay right behind me...” Jim demands.   


Leonard sighs. “I’m not an idiot, Jim.”

Jim cranes his neck to look at him, exasperated and stressed and worried all at once. “Yeah, well sometimes I think you are, not carrying your own phaser-”

“Jim, look out!”

The first Klingon’s blast bounces over their heads, nearly scraping Sulu’s silken hair, dancing like weird space-seaweed. Pressing himself against the nearest alcove, Sulu glares, returning fire, only missing once before taking the Klingon out by the neck. The body floats, unconscious, but more take its place. 

Red and green plasma bounds across the room like lightning, Jim pushes Leonard firmly behind him, giving as much as he gets. All Bones can see now are the colors in his peripherals. His limbs are starting to go numb, his mind reels, and finally, the shooting stops. 

One Klingon retains consciousness, clutching his arm to his chest. A skimming shot must’ve shocked it. Jim, cheeks a fiery red, swims his way over, kicking the Klingon against a wall with his boot.

“Jim, don’t!” Leonard howls, pushing after him and taking his friend by the arms. That Klingon oughta pay, but not yet. “He might know where Spock is!”

Struggling with himself, Jim eventually seems to agree. Just as he decides to speak the flaring lights turn a warning shade of green, then blast to white as the men hit the ground and weight settles back into their bones. Groaning, Leonard sits, helping Jim do the same and watching as Sulu moves at warp speed and pins the Klingon. The Klingon writhes to escape, but soon three humans are holding him down instead of one. Leonard’s arms ache and tremble with exertion, but soon the alien gives up.

“Where are they?” Jim demands, practically seething. “There are three hostages missing -  _ where are they?”  _

The Klingon doesn’t reply. Leonard’s heart sinks. 

“There was a Vulcan, a human male and a baby girl!” Sulu barks in the rigid ear. “What did you do with them?!”

Though his face is pressed to the floor, the sick Klingon smile is impossible to miss. “They are gone. You shall not get them back.”

_ “Where?!”  _ Leonard shouts, surprising Jim and Sulu.

“Far away.” 

“Captain Kirk!”

The trio reels around to find the captain of the  _ Intrepid  _ approaching with armed guards. “We’ve restored the ship’s systems, and despite the damage our computers have managed to thermally trace the Klingon ship’s trajectory.”

Leonard sits back on his heels, takes deep breaths. Security drags the Klingon away and he’s tempted to spit. 

“Where are they going?” Jim pulls himself to his feet, voice firm.

“Alpha Centauri.” 

Leonard drags himself up as well, frowning. “What’s there?”

The Captain sighs, dismissing his remaining officers. “Take me aboard your ship and I shall explain.”

 

* * *

 

This time, nothing shocks Spock from his sleep but pain. Hot agony is set deep in his bones. He can barely open his eyes, let alone shift around or inspect the damage. Walls seem to be caving in around him, even where the door stands open and a Klingon blocks his escape.

A hissing sound, low and breathy, drifts from the corner of the room. Though he can not move, Spock can sense the noise is not machine - it is human. Someone is attempting to communicate. 

“Spock!  _ Spock!” _

Frowning, Spock struggles to identify the voice. Who…? 

“Spock. Spock, it’s  _ Ben _ . It’s Ben, remember?”

A man is standing over him. Broad shoulders, soft-eyes filled with worry.

“Ben Sulu.”

Ben nods encouragingly. His voice is a powerful whisper, and he gazes frantically to the Klingon guiding the door. “Listen to me very carefully. If we don’t wrap your wounds you’re going to bleed out on this table. This’ll hurt, but try to keep quiet.”

Spock believes he understands. “Affirmative…” he mumbles. 

“Very good.” Fabric rustles - Ben must be removing some sort of garment from one of their persons. “I’m gonna move your legs really quick, okay? One, two-”

Spock tastes blood on his lips as he bites back a wail. Luckily, nothing but a few low groans escape him, and Ben is quickly tending to his arm and leg. 

“There, much better.” Ben seems reassured, but his eyes are manic and frazzled. 

Spock frowns. “Where is D-?”

“They took her to the bridge, I don’t know why,” Ben breathes, squeezing Spock’s wrists tightly. “Spock, I’m terrified. What are they doing to my baby girl?”

Something like adrenaline is pulsing through Spock’s brain, and through his discomfort he can see the lines of engagement clearly drawn. “I do not know.” That’s the third time. “But the Klingons shall pay.”

 

* * *

  
  


Leonard’s mind is whirling, too many gears cranking to keep in proper order. He’s furious and fascinated all at once.  _ Fascinated,  _ dammit!

“But first, let me get this straight,” he demands, fists propped against the table as he leers toward Captain Paul. “The Klingons have been after this thing for who knows how long, and nobody thought to  _ do anything about it?!” _

  
Paul sighs, fingers laced together as he bears the brunt of Leonard’s rage. “The Vulcans logically concluded that testing the Genesis device on a small scale aboard a Federation starship would decrease the chance of Klingon interference.” Paul sighs again. “Sadly, they miscalculated.”

Leonard scoffs. “Oh, so it’s the  _ Vulcans’ _ fault now!?” He stomps across the room, forehead sticky with nervous sweat. When had he started defending Vulcans! “What about the Federation failing to implement proper security measures?! What about-”

“Bones, enough.” Jim is sitting at the head of the conference table, reviewing a rendered projection of the Genesis Project in action. “So this thing, it... creates life?”

“Yes,” Paul affirms. “But it also takes it.”

Jim nods. “No wonder the Klingons want this thing.” 

“But what would they want Spock for?” Leonard demands, sitting down with a huff. He hasn’t eaten, slept, showered, breathed correctly in what feels like forever.

Paul thinks for a moment, the teal of the room around him giving his eyes a wisened look which Leonard thinks is probably bullshit. “Spock’s DNA would allow them access to the Genesis facility...” Another moment passes before Paul continues thinking out loud. “Spock was present at a Vulcan conference, correct?”

Jim groans, throwing his head back. “They didn’t want  _ Spock _ , they wanted the Vulcan scientists!”  

“But the delegation left early, so they took what they could get…” Leonard grumbles, running a hand up his face. “Damn it… That means the Klingons took Ben and Demora for insurance…”

“Which means Spock’ll give them the Genesis device.” Jim slaps his hands on his knees and stands with determination. “So we gotta get to them first.”

Leonard agrees wholeheartedly. Even if the fate of entire worlds, the  _ Intrepid  _ and the  _ Enterprise,  _ Sulu’s husband and child, wasn’t on the line, Leonard wants his Vulcan back and he wants him back  _ now.  _ “Let’s go get those bastards, Jim.” 

Jim Kirk smirks, and they dash to the bridge.

* * *

 

Logically, there are no means of escape. Logically, if they attempt to flee, the Klingons will harm Demora as retribution. Logically, they can do nothing but wait.

Finally, the vessel’s stabilizers jolt, and they stop moving. Ben retreats to the far wall, glaring as Klingon guards enter the room. Spock watches all the while, having meditated much of the pain to the edge of his awareness. Ben disappears from sight just as Spock’s restraints are removed. A powerful form shoulders him as if he is a child, and he is forced to his feet just as the ramp descends. 

Alpha Centauri is a wasteland. What had once been a flourishing tropical dessert is a post-apocalyptic haze of dirt and grime, all a sickening grayish green. A logical place to test a life-giving device. But revolting all the same. The air is flaky and difficult to breathe, the toxic wind rubbing at Spock’s wounds even through the cloth bandages. Being forced to walk on a broken leg is far easier than ignoring the stench of death around him. The weight of choices. 

Demora, thank goodness, is back in Ben’s arms. The pair have a gun at their backs, but the drooping skin around their eyes and the torn clothes are their only betrayers. Otherwise, they are strong, looking at Spock with resolve. The Vulcan admires them.

The facility is nowhere in sight. However, mountain ridges that jut like spires into the sky reveal the most likely spot. As if the Klingons are not there - his only goal is to find shelter for the Sulus, he decides -  _ pretends _ \- Spock takes a firm step forward, limping along and carrying his arm like precious cargo. Ben and Demora follow. No one else. 

Shooting stars gash across the sky, alighting against the horizon. If the surface of this planet bears no life (not yet, at least), its sky surely does. Not all of space looks alive. It certainly did on Vulcan, and does on Earth, but not everywhere. Some places it is dead. But here, it stands in vibrant contrast to Spock’s surroundings. Here, space is smiling. Spock knows it is because Leonard is out there. 

Spock’s thoughts dance with a ferocity he’s never encountered - his emotions have been exposed as his flesh has been - and he recalls Altima, and smiling, and laughing. Illogically, he wants to do that now. But perhaps it is not so illogical. Perhaps it is because he is frightened, and joy is the only remedy. 

_ “Fear of death is illogical.” _

_ “Fear of death is what keeps us alive.” _

Spock wants to go home.

 

* * *

 

The Bridge is deathly quiet. Buzzing consoles and scurrying ensigns are still as all possibility. Leonard hates it. He knows space is silent, but the  _ Enterprise _ normally isn’t.

_ In space, no one can hear you scream. _

Leonard nearly shivers. Before he can he gives himself a thorough scolding. That’s just a dumb movie quote, he reminds himself, from the twentieth century.

But it’s true. No one can hear him scream, because he hasn’t screamed yet. He’s bottling it up, saving it for the pure horror that probably waits for them. If he’s screaming right now, then it’s just on the inside. 

Jim can sense it. Leonard knows Jim like the back of his hand, and Jim knows Leonard the same way. Leonard  _ knows  _ when Jim knows, and he knows when Jim can feel it too. All of them can. This is just as personal as Altima had been. Just as crucial. 

Uhura holds his hand tightly as they sit together, Leonard in Spock’s chair and Uhura in hers. “We can do this,” she says. 

“You bet your ass we can.” He’s sure of it.  

 

* * *

 

Spock’s face is drenched with sweat and tears.

The march is relentless by his own doing - if he is to aid the Klingons he shall do so with chin held high and no sign of weakness. But a five mile trek with broken bones is exhausting. When they finally reach the facility he holds back a groan of pure relief. 

Ben is standing beside him, Demora held tightly at his hip. “Are you really going to let them in?” he whispers, regardless of ‘them’ on all sides. 

Spock looks to the building in front of him. It looms from the rock-face in classic Vulcan style, but the archaic arches are instead replaced with a tightly sealed metal door. Its panels glitter from the dull rock, demanding analysis of any who enter. Without Spock to let them in, the Klingons can not pass. “I have little choice,” he decides. Lest they’re killed. 

Prodded sharply in the back, Spock approaches the lock. Using his good arm to slide away the panel - not without a choked grunt of exertion - he examines the inner workings. Palm print. Retinal scan. Blood sample. 

Spock, for all intents and purposes as a Vulcan and a Starfleet officer, has clearance. He’s tempted to curse out whoever thought that was a sound idea. The computer whirs as its recognition software takes its time. With a ping the palm print is accepted. Spock has to try twice with the retinal scan. His eyes are bloodshot and tired, but the ping sounds again. Two green lights shine above the blue console, the last one still red. Now for a tissue sample. 

It does not prove difficult. A small tin-tray is presented from the computer’s interior. There is no lack of blood, so Spock shakes a few drops from his arm. It spreads slowly across the palette, sad and a little dry. Sad, he thinks. How illogical.

He is surprised the computer gives his hybrid blood no grief. Another ping. Three green lights.

With a groan of wariness, the door opens.

 

* * *

 

Vulcan buildings, in contrast to their often demure or bleak outer workings, are the brightest structures Spock has ever frequented. Bases of scientific research, such as the VSA, for instance, are almost always illuminated with the purest of white lights, for optimum efficiency and atmosphere. He anticipates something similar, hopes to embrace it.

Instead there is darkness. 

The door clangs shut behind them. Something hovers near his back - hopefully Ben, and not a Klingon weapon. 

“What is this?” the Klingon commander demands.

_ “Voice print not recognized.” _

A delicate voice, effeminate but computerized, drifts from the walls around them. There is shuffling as the Klingons grow agitated. 

“Who is that?!” Spock grunts as he is lifted from the floor, an unseen hand gripping the fabric at his neck and parting his feet from the ground. 

_ “Voice print not recognized.”  _

“It is… simply the computer system,” Spock manages to explain. 

_ “Voice print recognized. Welcome, Commander Spock.”  _

What an odd sense of de-ja vu, Spock muses. The Vulcan lights he so hoped to welcome flicker on, and Spock is placed back on his feet. Taking a step back from his aggressor - he does not care to see any closer - Spock awaits whatever comes next. 

“Take us to the device.” 

“Fine.” Spock says it with all the sass and nuisance he can muster. It amuses Ben, if no one else. 

But Leonard would be proud. 

He is given an ‘encouraging’ nudge forward, and so Spock follows the most logical path towards the center of the facility. It is not difficult to navigate, almost reminding Spock of his childhood school - the ‘upside-down one,’ as he’d told Demora. 

“How is she faring?” he whispers to Ben. 

“She’s fine. She’s asleep.”

Spock nods. “Good. She should not see what is coming.”

Anyone who is anyone - but hopefully  _ not _ the Klingons - would have found the lack of security personnel and active staff on the Alpha Centauri base disturbing. No one has come into contact with the small party, and so it appears the facility is abandoned. Spock knows it is not. 

Logically, whatever security personnel monitoring long-distance scanners would have seen a group of Klingons with a Vulcan hostage approaching. Spock concludes the Vulcans have retreated to the interior of the structure, to guard the device and consolidate their fire-power. 

So, as they approach the final door separating the Klingons and the Genesis device, Spock steels his reflexes and prepares to roll. 

One last palm print. His hand is practically shaking as he lowers it to the cool metal of the scanner. The beam passes over once, twice. A green light. Heavy bolts unsealing. 

Three, two-

Vulcans outnumber Klingons three to one. Klingons outgun Vulcans three to one. It is a terrifyingly even match. With the ferocity of sehlats the Vulcans take the offence, leaving any with weapons to surround the device. The Klingons howl and unleash their arsenal, fending off the pack-like attack. 

Blasters are unfurled, and the true carnage begins. Spock lunges for Ben and Demora, grabbing them and pulling them forward, towards the armed Vulcans. Ben catches on instantly, and the pair dart through the mayhem with now-very-awake Demora wailing between them. 

Vulcan bodies start to fall, and Spock feels every one of them. They echo through his mind like phantoms, compounding the pain he already feels. The Klingons are winning, and the armed Vulcans are easy targets, dropping like flies. Spock takes up two phasers, tossing one to Ben, and two Klingons fall - three. 

The fight drags on for what feels an eternity, but only moments at the same time. Glass shatters - the Genesis device is up for the taking. But finally, there are two Klingons left. The commander is one of them. Spock is riled up, practically hissing as the Klingon stomps towards him. They’re both out of charges. 

Ben is still fending off the last Klingon, sending Demora to hunker under the device while he and Spock fall back-to-back, dodging and punching. Ben is surprisingly strong, sending the other Klingon flying with a sound kick. Now that the odds are even, they turn to the commander.

He is smiling, pink blood smeared across a busted lip. Ben lands him a right hook, and Spock’s fingers go for the neck. 

The nerve pinch does not work. The Klingon lands a blow to his arm, and Spock hits the floor. The other one is on his feet, pinning Ben from behind. The pair squirm for long moments before it is over. 

“You have tasted defeat. Now give me. Genesis.”

Spock spits at the Klingon’s feet. That earns him a swift kick before he’s dragged to the device and ordered to input the release code. 

Vision blurred, creaking at every joint, Spock reaches slowly for the release panel. A small hand stops him. 

Demora’s lower lip is wobbling, but her eyes are firm and through her ruined bangs she does not look afraid. “Down’t do it.”

Spock sighs before punching in the code. The clamps hiss apart. The Klingon takes the device. 

Closing his eyes, Spock slumps down. He was given no guarantee of survival, for any of them. Now he can only hope. 

There’s the vague sensation of being lifted. Up, up, out. The stale taste of the planet’s air hits him. But it could be blood - of any kind. He is unable to keep track. 

Moving quickly now. Klingons are limber, and want to escape before interception. His thoughts slurring together, Spock almost doesn’t hear the bubbling whir of stabilizers, or feel the cool blast of wind blown from Federation nacelles. 

_ “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait guys! I'm almost done with the last chapter :)
> 
> Comments are appreciated!


	5. resolution. reunion. farewell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Klingon is outraged, but he can’t do anything about it. His companion has slumped over, unconscious, and now Ben has his gun. The man slowly backs away, joining the rest of the landing party, and his family. 
> 
> That’s one problem solved. Now for two more.

There are fifty Starfleet shuttles armed to the teeth, thirteen Vulcan vessels, twelve Yorktown cruisers, two starships and one very pissed off Leonard McCoy. This has to mark the first time he’s worn a blaster on his hip  _ ever,  _ and he’s happy about it. 

“Landing party, are we ready?” Scotty stands behind the transporter console, in all seriousness. 

Jim Kirk nods from his position on the transporter pad. “You betcha.”

Leonard almost grumbles, but he’s never been so ready to have his atoms scattered and reassembled. Spock’s down there, and so are Ben and Dem, and they’re hurt and they need his help. 

Sulu and Uhura are with them too. So are Captain Paul and dozens of security officers, all waiting attentively in various transporter rooms. 

“Mr. Scott, engage.”

“Aye, Captain!” 

Leonard nearly doesn’t feel the nausea, he’s so sick with adrenaline and anticipation already. The planet’s surface is scraggly beneath his boots, and the air is hell, but he’s surrounded by hundreds of allies and they’re only up against two Klingons. 

Those two Klingons are worse for wear, too. They’re covered in vibrant pink splotches, metal and leather scratched and burnt and caving in in ways that can’t be comfortable. One is stooped over, trying to keep Ben Sulu at bay.

“Daddy!” Demora shrieks at the sight of Hikaru, who is tense and breathing heavily to Leonard’s right. The girl is wrapped tight around her father’s legs, and Ben looks so relieved to see them it’s nearly a blessing. 

The second Klingon roars, and Demora shrieks again. Sulu grunts unhappily, but Uhura holds him back. 

That second Klingon is clearly in charge. He’s tall and broad and mean, even all beat-up, but he has the Genesis device slung over one shoulder and under the opposite boot he has Spock. Leonard’s heart stops beating. Spock isn’t moving - only his hair is ruffled by the wind. 

_ Oh god, no…  _

“You can not stop me from using Genesis!” the Klingon bellows, and Leonard hates this guy to high hell already. One ugly finger makes a move for the switch. A dozen phasers click from ‘stun’ to ‘kill’. 

“Do not. Move.” Jim takes two steps forward, in front of his men and towards the Klingon. “You’re outnumbered. You can not-”

_ “I can destroy you all!” _

And that’s what Leonard’s afraid of. That this Klingon’ll see there’s no honorable option other than to take ‘em all out in an inferno of… well, life. 

How ironic. 

Nobody moves. Nobody moves for a good long while, which makes it all the more obvious when someone actually does. 

Demora makes a rush for her pa, darting between Leonard’s legs to latch onto Sulu. “Dem, what’re you doing!” Hikaru scolds, but he drops to one knee and pulls her close and looks like he won’t let go. Leonard wouldn’t either. 

The Klingon is outraged, but he can’t do anything about it. His companion has slumped over, unconscious, and now Ben has his gun. The man slowly backs away, joining the rest of the landing party, and his family. 

That’s one problem solved. Now for two more.

Jim looks ready to pounce, and the Klingon seems to be waiting for it. Leonard’s eyes are fixed on Spock, still not moving, hell, he  _ better not-  _

Something tugs on his pant-leg. He glances down. Demora is there, smiling. Leonard frowns and looks back at Ben and Hikaru. They’re smiling too, discreetly, hands clasped tightly together. What the hell is this?

Jim and the Klingon don’t seem to care, so Leonard bends down and listens attentively to what Demora has to say, small hands cupped around his ear. 

_ Jesus fucking Christ! _

Leonard slowly jogs up to Kirk, grabbing him by the forearm. “Jim, you’re  _ never gonna believe this!”  _

Jim frowns disapprovingly, not about to back down from this particular fight. “ _ What  _ Bones?!”

In a low whisper Leonard tells him. Jim erupts in a shit-eating grin. 

“Alright, Mr. Klingon,” Jim speaks up, lowering his phaser and crossing his arms. “How about we cut a deal.”

 

* * *

 

 

Spock is carefully brought over, laid out on the ground beside Leonard by a group of medical aids. Leonard is immediately bending over him, checking for a pulse.

It’s there. Thank  _ god.  _

“I have fulfilled your terms,” the Klingon announces. “So you must let me go.” 

Kirk shrugs. “Fine. Whatever. Have fun.”   


The Klingon seems perturbed, but hikes the device higher on his shoulder and turns in the direction of his ship. 

“But, ya know-...”

He turns back at the challenge in Jim’s voice.

“I woulda thought, well, you being a Klingon and all, you woulda just blown us all up anyway.”

The Klingon frowns. Jim grins.    
  
“I dunno, that’s just me.”

With a grumble the Klingon starts walking away. 

“Coward.”

The Klingon freezes. Leonard winces. If they’re not right about this they’ll really eat it. Slowly the commander turns, a scowl of rage twisting his features. Leonard’s heart is racing. The crew takes two steps back. 

“Coward.  _ Coward?!”  _ the Klingon bellows. “I’ll  _ show you  _ coward!” 

The Klingon flips the switch.

Nothing happens. 

Jim blinks, glancing around expectantly. “Well?” 

The Klingon grunts and flips it again. 

Nothing that time either. 

Leonard grins. 

Jim steps forward, phaser extended. “I suggest you drop it  _ now.”  _

The Klingon seems to have a death wish. He drops the device and runs. 

Jim just shrugs and levels his aim.

“Hold on a damn minute!” Leonard barks, standing and snatching the phaser from Jim. He shoots and doesn’t miss.  

 

* * *

 

White lights are the first thing he sees. Glaring at him from all angles. Not like the ones on Vulcan, but  _ flaring _ , like the ones on-

The  _ Enterprise.  _

Spock would have shot straight up if a firm hand wasn’t holding him down. “Hey, woah, woah! Easy there, Spock, take it easy…”

For the first time, he actually blinks, and nearly deflates in relief. “Leonard…”

Leonard’s smile is warm and kind and all the right shades of worriment and relief. He leans forward, a gentle kiss placed on Spock’s lips. “That’s right, darlin’. You’re safe now, we got yah back.”

Spock sinks back onto the biobed, absorbing the hustle and bustle of medbay with a quiet thankfulness. “Ben and Demora?”

“They’re just fine,” Leonard assures, running a tricorder over Spock’s form. His leg has ceased to hurt, and so has his arm, likely regenerated. “Pure genius, that girl.” 

Spock would have agreed if he weren’t curious as to how Leonard came to the same conclusion. “How so?” 

The CMO smirks. “She’s the reason you and me’re alive.”

Now Spock is rightly curious. Over the course of the next few minutes, they regale each other of prior events from their own point of view. Leonard practically seethes the whole way through Spock’s recitation, but when the man reaches the end of his own narrative he lights up like the proverbial Christmas tree. 

“So I’m just about resigned to the fact we’re all gonna die, when little Demora trots over an’ tells me. I just about hit the roof, I was so relieved.”

Spock quirks a brow. “What did she tell you?”

Leonard chuckles, leaning forward conspiratorially and dragging out the moment. “She took out the  _ goddamned batteries.” _

Spock blinks. 

Leonard is chortling and shaking his head. “Whenever y’all were fighting, she snuck over to the device and  _ took out the batteries!  _ It wouldn’t’ve worked even if the Klingon managed to take it!”

Lips parted, Spock is at a loss for words. “I… Fascinating.”  

“Devilish, clever,” Leonard amends. “That girl’s too slick for her own good.” 

“It shall serve her well,” Spock decides, taking Leonard’s hand loosely in his. 

Leonard smiles and kisses him again.

 

* * *

 

There’s a short celebration as the Enterprise heads for Yorktown - streamers, confetti, cake, and plants. Lots and lots of plants. It’s a mini-party-reunion-victory-thing, as Jim calls it, but it feels more like a double-wedding, with people congratulating Leonard and Spock, Ben and Hikaru left and right on a job well done. Hell knows it wasn’t the job Leonard signed up for, but still.

When it’s finally,  _ blessedly  _ over, Leonard has Spock by the hip and he isn’t letting go. Thank God the hobgoblin doesn’t complain. The trip to their quarters is riddled with all sorts of wonderful tension, right up until the door closes. 

Hands are up shirts and their mouths clash together, hot breath against each other’s necks. Praise flows from Leonard like a bottled dam - “Amazing, Spock, so beautiful… God I thought I’d lost you, don’t do that to me again, you hear…”

“I will not, Leonard. I love you.” Backed against their closet, hair tousled and cheeks green, Spock is the loveliest creature Leonard’s ever seen.

Leonard runs his hand up Spock’s side and smiles. "I love you too, darlin’. I missed you so much. I had no one to talk to..."

"There are plenty of people on-board you could have spoken to, Leonard." Spock’s brows are high on his head, but where their skin meets Leonard knows Spock understands. Spock is overjoyed too.

"I'm not a people-person, darlin’. I'm a take-care-of-people person."

“Would one not correlate with the other?”

“No, so shut up and kiss me.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Saying goodbye to Ben and Demora is one of the most difficult experiences Spock has faced. But he is not surprised by it. They are his family, along with the rest of the Enterprise crew, who are here to pay their regards as well. 

Hikaru holds Ben for a very long time. Just as well, for Demora takes it as a chance to hold  _ Spock _ for a very long time. 

“You’ws gonna come back and visit, right?”

Spock runs a hand gently over Demora’s hair. His legs are cramping, but it’s well worth it to crouch in the busy terminal. “Affirmative.”

Demora frowns. Her bangs have been trimmed and she’s back in her favorite sunflower dress. Spock approves. “Affiwrmative means yes, right?”

Spock smiles. “Yes.”

The girl grins and claps her hands. “Yay! Daddy, Papa, Spock’s gonna come visit again!” 

“He sure is!” Hikaru agrees, watching as Ben scoops up their happy daughter. Sulu levels Spock a look that says he’d hold him to it. Spock would never imagine disagreeing. 

He stands just as Ben hand Demora to Hikaru. The man hugs Spock tightly. “Thank you.”

Spock returns the embrace comfortably, allowing his eyes to close. “You are most welcome. And  _ I _ thank  _ you _ .”

Ben seems happy with that. Jim, Uhura, Chekov and Scotty say their goodbyes, but Spock cannot escape without one last hug from Dem. 

“I’wll miss you.”

“I will miss you too.” 

Ben and Demora walk away, Yorktown alight as they walk into its hold. Spock is content.

Sulu pats his shoulder as he heads for the ship, but Spock lingers a moment longer. A hand wraps around his waist, and he turns his head to see Leonard smiling.

“You’re nothin’ but a big softy, yah know that?” 

Spock’s brows crease, but his lips quirk. “I will not contest that.”

Leonard grins and pecks him on the forehead. “You better not.” Another kiss, this time to parted lips. “We better get going.” 

They lace hands and follow the rest of the crew, Jim boasting of their next great adventure. 

“There is something on your mind, Leonard,” Spock states.

Leonard shrugs, nudging Spock with his elbow. “Yeah, a bit. I guess seeing you with Sulu’s family makes me want one of our own.” 

Spock is thoughtful for a short time, and as they enter the halls of the Enterprise he turns to face Leonard in full. “In that instance, lack of trying shall not stop us. Last night included.” 

Leonard gives him a comic look of incredulous eyes and a slack-jawed smile. “Cheeky bastard!” he accuses. 

Spock squeezes his hand tightly, giving Leonard a  _ very  _ discreet wink. The man gapes after him as the Vulcan heads for the Bridge. 

_ “Did anyone else see that?!” _

Six months later the cramps start, and  _ there’s  _ their next great adventure. 

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all done! :D Thanks for sticking with me, I hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be updating every few days :)


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